I asked if we would allow me to post it if I wrote a scene to go with it. And here you go.
They say that the moment of awakening, the beggining of a new day, when the dawn is breaking, ought to feel like one's soul's rebirth. How many times have we seen it being used as a metaphor for revival, marking the start of a new story, a new chapter, a new world, a new life...
But the truth is, all those similes are but a work of fiction, an exxagerated, poetic comparison that has nothing to do with reality. There's nothing pleasant in awakening, in having your eyes be bombarded by stinging sunlight, the feeling of your body being weak, devoid of strength, in having to force all the will you possess into such a simple action as sitting up and looking around. Your eyes, swollen, sometimes covered in an imaginative slime that you cannot help but try to rub off, often carelessly stabbing your own eyeballs with your own fingernails. I fail to see the poetic beauty in all this. Call me an insensitive, uneducated idiot, but while I tolerate poetry, it often appears to me as just a bunch of nonsense. Especially when it comes to swaggering and describing the most trivial things as unbelievable miracles.
Not even the down-filled quilt and extremely cosy pillows can ease the pain of being 'alive' again.
My lips agree with me, it seems, as they let out a displeased groan, oh-so-related to my current state of mind. My eyes, still covered with dreamy mist, slowly survey the surroundings, a bit confused about the lack of the elements usually present at my awakening. The navy-blue ceiling apparently decided to raise a bit higher, and sprout a chandelier, which - judging by it's looks - I couldn't afford even after 50 years of continuous work. Same goes for the bed. And the covers. And practically everything else around. What bothers me the most, is the giant painting, hung on the wall opposite of my current position, depicting a long in the tooth man, sporting impressive moustache and a hunting rifle. The colour of said moustache perfectly matches the blonde hair sticking out from under his cap.
What a fool I am. To be so forgetful about the events of past 10 or so hours, I must've had a really deep sleep. How could I forget? After somehow easing the tension between Maribel and Fuku, we finally got to the mall, where we bumped into Marry and - suprisingly - Reymont. It turned out that we might be allowed into Gensokyo again, but only if we manage to convince the corrupted monk... Which we did, thanks to the unexpected help from Marry's - apparently - girlfriend, named - disturbingly - Renko. It's going to be a long time till I get used to that. And then we got invited here... Fuku barely agreed, since we had diffirent plans, but Maribel had an ace in her sleeve, in form of a few whispering words none other than she herself and Fuku could hear... I don't even want to know what were those words, I'm just happy that I got to spend a night here, at this enormous mansion Marry's parents built for their son to live in.
Regretfully, it wasn't long before all of us got weary and went to sleep... For some bizarre reason, Marry assigned me to a room with a four poster bed, way too large for a single person... What was the reason, I'd rather it stay in the shadows of ignorance. After all, in the end, it came in handy.
Since she had decided that her room was too empty to sleep in, and snuck into mine. What happened next, however, will have to remain a sweet secret.
I look to my side.
She's not here. An early bird she is, huh? And to think that usually she's the one to oversleep... I've no watches or clocks on me, but I can say it's around 9 or 10AM, judging by the sunlight somehow finding it's way inside through the windowblinds. The colour of early morning is diffirent.
Still trying to shake off the false weariness of a deep sleep, I stand up and stretch my back. Loud creaking of my bones sounds delightfully relaxing, for some reason. The first thing I do, is direct my steps to the balcony door, which - slightly opened - lets in a nice, although a bit cold breeze to stir the still air of the room.
And there she is. Leaning on the balustrade, dressed in only the clothes she'd been lent by Renko - a white button-up shirt, and of course underwear - with the vast expanse of the mansion's garden as the background for her beautiful hair, fluttering in the light wind.
The sun is already relatively high in the sky.
I stand beside her, and look at the breath-taking view, composed of countless flowerbeds, artistically trimmed hedges, fruit trees and a gravelled web of paths. The only thing it lacks to complete the image that has somehow been formed in my mind the first time I saw it, is a mountain shrouded in mist, but I guess the hill right in the middle of the whole edifice could suffice. I sigh. No wonder he doesn't want to live here. I've been his friend for quite some time now, and I can tell, that all this doesn't satisfy him at all. Sure, he does appear to enjoy waving money left and right, but it's always for a noble cause. But living here... would be rather lonely, wouldn't it.
With the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Fuku glancing at me.
"Good morning." I speak up, still admiring the colourful spectacle before me "How are we today?"
"... still sleepy." she answers, in a rather tired tone that confirms the words.
"Then why didn't you just stay in bed for a while longer?"
Saying that with a smile on my face, I turn to her, only to find out that she's staring at me, looking somehow displeased about something. That, and... Her shirt is half-unbuttoned. The curves of her chest area are revealed and free for the world to admire. Truth be told... I can also see her nipples showing through the thin, white fabric.
Curse you, fate, for giving me such a stimulation after such a long and tiring night.
I oppose the urge to stare with all my might, and actually manage to avert my eyes, returning them to the garden. What a beautiful garden. I can't help but like the way the fruit trees grow right in the middle of a very large flowerbed. What a brilliant architectural sense. Simply genius.
Damn, I can feel myself blushing.